


Bridges

by Aimryax



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games), Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (2019)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, One Shot, Reunions, Trans!Price
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimryax/pseuds/Aimryax
Summary: Parallels of scarves and hats, cigars and cigarettes, meet up once again.//Bridges - Generdyn [feat. FJØRA]
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> Man I haven’t written in so long  
> This time! Thank you @warcom (tumblr) for helping me out and beta this!!
> 
> *Saydaty means Ma’am, you can hear some of the ULF say it to Farah.

Sunset.

Morning and night were never a favourite for the Commander, not anymore after the invasion and the breakout; indications of tragedies and heartbreaks.

Too many unpleasant memories tied to these.

So sunset was her favourite time of the day. The ending of the sun that rose above everyone, now disappears far into the horizons to rest alongside everyone, the ending to all thoughts and prayers, the ending of all conflict for a sombre aura of peace and quite.

Wind was felt on Farah’s face, for her face still yearned for such sensibilities for ten years of imprisonment, breathing again after breaking the walls she painted the revolution on, leading it.

Looks and impressions of her strengthened, where the word Karim was traded for a more respectful _Sayadaty_. A recognisable leadership within her as she was taken as the definition of freedom and icon of hope.

Taking a long inhale of the wind, her ears picked up the light steps of her sent out scout. With no need to turn her face to Iskra, Farah merely gave a glance with her eyes towards her left to hear the identity of the visitor.

“Who is it?”, enemy or foe?

Usual bored tone, the rifle by her side, never out of her arms, even in sleep.

“Captain Price. Only one, alone.”

Smile spread on her lips with her defences going down, the name with a different rank managed to get that smile. It’s been a while and a lot of wondering. Years since their first physical meeting of two forces colliding. 

“Let him come.”

Years since the weapons returned to her arms to defend.

A gentle nod was given to Iskra in dismiss to any danger and let him come, a trusted name with no need for safety around here; not from trust in the source of the west, but from trust in the man himself who proved himself worthy of such.

Seventeen, and now twenty two, it’s been five years since she was face to face with Lieutenant Price once again but with differing status and age taking drastic differences on the two fighters.

Greens, whites and reds of the Pan-Arab scheme replaced the greying clothes, resembling less of prisoner _twenty eight_ and more of _Karim_. Accessories clinked as they moved to announce their presence.

Colourful bracelets and bands of freedom, revolution and of her culture always followed Farah as her arms shot in the air with loud cheers against invasion; holding it as dear as her baba and mama in her heart with a reclaimed identity and pride that cannot be drowned.

Hair tickled her ears softly as well, curling from the weather as the natural messiness of a growing short hair spread out from the equally colourful bands and scarves, coldness doesn’t reach to her scalp anymore.

Steps sounded slowly on the stairs of rebuilt defences on _Rammaz’s_ boarders, letting Price be greeted by the sight Farah sitting ontop of the post’s walls, smiling at the taken back village—an almost daily match of back and forth with the Invaders—before turning her body slightly to the intended newcomer.

“It’s good to see you, Captain.” The Commander greeted.

Same flag, same force, different demeanour of an also matured person and different appearance.

Even with the age difference, even with the fact that the likes of Price often looked down upon the likes of her; Farah have never felt Price saw her as inferior, but always felt that the older man held high respect for the Commander, that they were both of equal level, both worthy of leadership.

With distrust to the west that turned a blind eye to her people, Farah grew bitter at whoever came to her country of conflict as a playground; taking it as a joke or something to be indifferent, to see lesser of it—of her. Making her snap at the mere _hinting_ of betrayal or surrendering at any daring dog.

But with seeing how the man near her defy direct orders from influenced higher ups and listen to her directly, putting faith into her and her only for these decisions and views, Farah shook hands with confidence.

Price was a man to be trusted, an equal ally.

Young; scarred with ones still healing from the past, Farah sat comfortably with her darling weapons, the scarves gently danced in the wind by her ears.

Approaching to stand next to her, leaning on the short wall on crossed arms, Price joined in to watch the sunset with her. Even with combat clothes, Price never felt like danger, but a friend. Taking notice of the new boonie instead of a beanie, as well as the growing facial hair, she teased:

“You’ve grown some hair.” 

Surprised soft laughter came out from Price.

“Could say the same to you, Commander.” The gruffer voice responded warmly, establishing the existing bond.

Coming up to touch her own hair that started to grow more from the forcefully shaved scalp, Farah’s smile remained with a gentle huff, both falling into a short conversation as the sun dipped far back to leave a warmly cold air.

She’s here. She’s here to stay and rebuild everything back on the soil where her family was buried with gentle flowers to restore what was rightfully was— _is and will_ —hers, and she will forever voice these thoughts of hers to every friend and enemy

With the first eye contact between blue and hazel eyes, moving the lighter to light up her cigarette after his cigar, the gruff voiced spoke again.

“I’m not gonna back down on that.”

Face filled with scars from young age as well, knowing how it feels like to be left behind for dead and forgotten to rot, to depend on self to do what’s right, it always felt like they paralleled each other in a way.

Blowing off the smoke, loving the burn of the nicotine on her tongue and the gust of the wind that took the grey blow away; Farah responded.

“I know.”

With an affirmative nod from the older man with the wordless promise, Farah knew she wasn’t alone in this forgotten war.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I felt discouraged to write stuff about Farah considering she doesn’t get the recognition or the right representation she deserves, but thanks to my friends I try to keep on going! And thanks fo anyone who left kind comments on my prev. Farah works, means a lot!


End file.
